


every second of your suffering

by tgrsndshrks



Category: Marilyn Manson (Band), Nine Inch Nails (Band)
Genre: Anal Fingering, Dirty Talk, Dom/sub, Hand & Finger Kink, Hand Jobs, M/M, Orgasm Delay/Denial, Predicament Bondage, Verbal Bondage
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-02
Updated: 2017-08-02
Packaged: 2018-12-10 05:56:08
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,288
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11685462
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tgrsndshrks/pseuds/tgrsndshrks
Summary: “Just looking,” Trent says. He pulls Brian's hand to his mouth, kisses the knuckles. Brian brushes his thumb over Trent's cupid's bow, the only digit without a ring on it.or, the one where trent likes brian's rings and brian likes making trent work for it.





	every second of your suffering

**Author's Note:**

> YEET
> 
> i fucking love predicament bondage and if you ask me this is close enough to get the tag
> 
> shout out to the sin group chat i love y'all
> 
> other shout out to boyfriend whom i know will love this garbage
> 
> title from contemptress by motionless in white
> 
> ETA 1/8/18: [ did a dvd commentary on this fic over on my blog!!](http://skold.tumblr.com/post/169481090367/thanks-for-sharing-your-fic-commentary-its-so)

Brian's silent as he enters the hotel room, only announced by the beep of the room key and the sigh of the door opening. He could be deceptively quiet at times, despite his onstage behavior – he'd been apt to startle Trent when he was focused on his work in the pig house, particularly at night. Trent sits up on the bed, tosses his magazine to the side. Brian's throwing his jacket on the table over his room key, quietly unpacking his pockets as Trent watches, the black curtain of his hair falling down his back.

“Hey,” Trent says, sliding to the edge of the bed. Brian glances back over his shoulder, whited out eye seeing Trent. He looks back down at whatever's in his hands.

“Hey,” Brian says. “There's some people in the lobby.”

“Fuck,” Trent sighs, smearing his hand across his face. He'd have to ask about a side exit then. Brian steps over, the crinkle of plastic pants making Trent look between his fingers. Brian takes Trent's hand, pulls it from his face.

“S'alright,” he says, wrapping his hand around Trent's, thumbing over the knuckles. “There's an emergency exit I spotted on the way up. If it sets off an alarm I'll take the blame.” Trent manages a weak smile and turns his hand around in Brian's grip, looking over his rings. _Ugh._ Brian's rings. Terribly distracting, really, when he's trying to focus on important things like sulking. Trent brings his other hand up and toys with a ring with a scorpion embedded in the resin. “What're you doing?” Brian asks. It's not an accusation; it's gentle curiosity.

“Just looking,” Trent says. He pulls Brian's hand to his mouth, kisses the knuckles. Brian brushes his thumb over Trent's cupid's bow, the only digit without a ring on it.

“Yeah?” Brian asks. His voice is even, fingers lifting Trent's chin. Trent nods, letting Brian hold his jaw. Trent takes Brian's other hand in his, holding it between the palms. “Got a little time before bus call.” Trent hums, turns his face into Brian's hand, mouths a kiss at the space between his thumb and forefinger.

“Guess we ought to take advantage of it then,” Trent says. Brian grins with one side of his mouth. He reaches down to pull up at the hem of Trent's shirt and Trent lets him take it off. Brian splays his hand out on Trent's chest and pushes him back onto the bed, climbs over him, predatory, feline. He feels up to Trent's collar bones, hand resting where they almost meet, angles jutting up from white skin.

“Pretty,” Brian whispers. Trent feels his cheeks flush, but he's quiet, breath picking up as Brian's fingers skate over his throat. Brian inches back down, lower, other hand resting where Trent's already half hard. Trent's breath hitches. “Sensitive,” Brian comments. Trent whines in response.

Brian slides his hand from Trent's neck, down his body to his belt, undoing it. Trent lifts his hips to let him pull his shorts and underwear off, leaving him bare, pale expanses of skin. Brian traces the dusting of hair under Trent's belly button with a black fingernail. Trent watches it, watches the ring on the digit.

“You want my fingers?” Brian asks. Trent's cock jerks, hardening at the suggestion.

“Yeah,” Trent says. Brian slides the ring from his index finger, noticing Trent watching. It's not a secret Trent loves Brian's hands, though. Brian leans forward, places the ring in the center of Trent's chest. Then removes another ring, then the last two, adding each to the pile, black and silver metal, red gems, yellowed resin.

“Hold these for me, yeah?” Brian says. “Keep your hands on the headboard, though.” Trent nods, not quite understanding yet, reaching his arms above him to grab onto the rungs of the headboard. The rings clink together as he moves. Brian grins, pats Trent's thigh as if to say good boy, and gets up to go to his bag. Trent shifts, parting his legs to give Brian some space as he crawls back between them, lube in hand, and the ring with the red pentagram rolls off Trent's side. Brian clicks his tongue. “I said hold them,” he says, picking the ring up and setting it back in its place. “I'll let the first one slide, but don't drop another one. Understand?”

Trent just nods. It's not fear of punishment that makes him obey, but this inherent need to please his lover. The swell of pride he feels when he tells him he's a _good boy_.

Trent whines, eases his grip on the headboard rungs as Brian's fingers slick him over. His cock lay untouched, flushed pink against the white skin of his stomach. Brian eases a finger in, slow but unforgiving, pushing till the knuckle. Trent tries to roll his hips in an effort to get some friction going, but the rings on his chest click together as if to warn him to stay still. Brian curls his finger and Trent's head falls back with a gasp. God. Brian's fucking fingers. Long enough to reach deeper than he'd ever felt.

“You want another one?” Brian asks, and he must be feeling merciful, because he just does it when Trent nods. Trent moans, arching a little at the stretch. Brian places his hand flat on his stomach and pushes him back down. “Careful.” Maybe _that_ was a threat.

“Fuck,” Trent whimpers. Was he meant to stay perfectly still this whole time? A challenge for anyone, but damn near impossible for him. Brian works long fingers into him, rocking his hand, the palm pressing against him from the outside, and _Christ_. It's not _fair_. He keens in the back of his throat, breath catching as Brian starts fucking him open in earnest, the wet sound of his lubed fingers fucking obscene. Trent tries to keep himself still, kicks a leg, lifts his hips. “Ah, ah, fuck--”

“Hold it,” Brian says, free hand going for Trent's leg. He pushes the thigh down, holds him spread wide open. “Goddamn, you look like a fucking whore.” Trent moans, cock jerking. Brian's tone isn't condescending or insulting. “Yeah? You probably want more fingers, don't you, slut.” The words are fond. Warm.

“Fuck, yes,” Trent chokes out. Brian slides his fingers out, hand slicking easily up to the base of his cock, squeezing. The moan dies in Trent's throat, coming out broken. Brian brings his hand all the way up his length, then back down, one agonizing stroke, before he pushes his three fingers in all at once. “ _Shit._ ”

“You open up so fucking easy,” Brian says, voice low, but soft. “I bet I could fit my whole goddamn fist in your fuckhole.” Trent practically sobs at the thought.

“Please,” he whimpers.

“Please what?” Brian asks. “You want this whole fist?” Trent groans and tosses his head back in frustration, the rings on his chest rattling. “Ah ah. Stay still.” He grits his teeth, cock aching, tension in his body near unbearable.

“Please just touch me,” Trent whines, barely a whisper.

“Where, babe?” Brian asks. Trent keens. As if it isn't obvious.

“My cock,” Trent whimpers. Brian hums, moving his free hand over Trent's length, rings still adorning the fingers. For a moment, Trent wonders how they'd feel working him, slick smooth metal next to the grip of Brian's palm. Brian doesn't show him. He drags a finger down the underside, and Trent's dick jumps at the contact.

“Can you come from just this?” Brian asks, bringing the fingertip back up. Trent shudders as his cock follows the touch, lifting from his stomach slightly, precome stringing from the tip. “Hm. Messy boy,” Brian comments. He teases his finger at the slit. “I wonder how long I could draw it out like this. Or if I just took my fingers out and told you to put your clothes back on so we're not late for bus call--”

“No, no,” Trent grits out, shaking his head quickly. “Please, don't.” He feels near tears, the exertion of keeping himself still enough to balance the rings on his chest starting to ache in his arms, in his core.

“Shh,” Brian says, finally, mercifully, wrapping his hand around Trent's cock. Trent moans, bucks up into it reflexively, feels a ring slide, but not off. Brian's still fingering into him, and Trent's body struggles between fucking up into tight grip or down onto long digits. He practically _growls_ in frustration. Because Brian isn't moving his fucking fist.

“Please,” Trent huffs, lifts his head to look down at Brian. If Trent hadn't been explicitly instructed to keep his hands on the headboard rungs, he'd probably punch the stupid smirk off Brian's face.

“You're going to need to be more specific,” Brian says. Trent feels a flash of hot rage, but swallows it down.

“Please,” Trent forces out through clenched teeth. “Please, jerk me off.” Brian grins, and he does. His grip is tight and quick and Trent feels it rising in him quick, pulling low and heavy in his hips. Trent's legs shake, every muscle in his body trying to force itself still. His mouth is making the word, _fuck, fuck, fuck,_ but no breath comes out of him. “I,” he chokes out.

“Ask,” Brian says, voice firm.

“Please can I come,” Trent asks, coming out all one word, one breath, no inflection.

“Sorry, didn't catch that,” Brian says.

“Please can I _fucking_ come,” Trent nearly yells, positive anyone on the other side of the wall would hear it.

“Just a second,” Brian says, and he fucking stops.

“What the _fuck_ ,” Trent shouts, somehow fighting the reflex to sit bolt upright. His knuckles are white around the rungs, cock jerking pathetically in the air, suddenly empty as Brian draws his fingers out. Trent just stares at him, venom in his eyes. “What the fuck, Brian?”

“Don't call me that,” Brian says. He's wiping his lubed hand off on the sheets. “I gotta take these other rings off. I don't want you to come on them.” Trent groans, body aching as he relaxes into the bed, head falling back.

“You're an asshole,” Trent says weakly.

“Yeah, I know,” Brian says, clearly taking that as a compliment. He takes his sweet time, pulling each ring off his finger, placing it in the pile on Trent's heaving chest. Trent uses the moment's break to adjust his grip on the headboard, catch his breath. Brian gathers the little bunch of rings together, places one on top, balanced there. “If there's not eight rings still there after you're finished, I'm not going to be happy. Understood?”

“Yes,” Trent says softly, and Brian spits on his fingers, shoves them all back inside at once. Trent's mouth falls open, feels tears sting at his eyes, still staring at Brian as he starts working his dick again, all smooth tight fist. “Fuck,” Trent whispers. Brian looks up, meets his eyes, and Trent sighs, lids drooping. It's too much, too fucking good. He doesn't look away and neither does Brian, who just keeps moving his hands, pushing him, and it's coming quick again.

“You're gonna come,” Brian says, not a demand. An observation.

“Yeah,” Trent says, barely a breath, nodding. He can't even moan, too intense, too much, too _much_.

“Ask me,” Brian says. He doesn't break the eye contact for a second.

“Please.”

“ _Ask._ ”

“Please, can I please fucking come,” Trent breathes, the words not even really audible over the sound of cock fucking a lubed fist, but Brian seems to understand. He nods, and Trent's mouth falls open, orgasm crashing into him and ripping through him. The moan breaks in his throat as his cock jerks, spills thick across his stomach and over Brian's knuckles, his eyes never leaving Brian's. Brian just works him through it, nods him on till Trent finally just drops his head back onto the pillow, fingers releasing their grip on the rungs.

“Good boy, yeah, _good boy_ ,” Brian's whispering, and Trent's ears are fucking ringing. Brian's fingers are gone and fuck, that's Trent's shirt he's grabbing to clean him up with, isn't it? But no, Brian's fingers are at his mouth. Trent parts his lips, lets him pry his mouth open, sucks the come from them. “So fucking good. _Fuck._ ”

“Mm,” Trent mumbles, and Brian has to practically wrench his hand out of Trent's mouth. Trent grabs for Brian's hair, fists into the roots at the sides of his head, and Brian's thumbing at his cheeks.

“You with me?” Brian asks.

“Did I cry?” Trent whispers.

“Yeah,” Brian says. “You're alright.”

“I didn't drop any, did I?” Trent asks.

“No – fuck, Trent, you just came like a goddamn fire hose and that's what you're worried about?”

Trent considers it for a moment.

“I guess,” he says. Brian huffs a laugh.

“Christ,” he says. Trent pulls him closer, their noses mashing together before Brian readjusts. “Don't fuck up my nose,” Brian says, his mouth against Trent's. “I actually like that part of my face.”

“Yeah?” Trent asks, biting his lip. “I know what part of my face is your favorite.”

“Your nose?” Brian says, and Trent frowns.

“My mouth,” he whispers. Ah. So that's what he's getting at.

“You want me to fuck your mouth,” Brian says.

“Fuck my mouth,” Trent breathes.

“Later,” Brian says, pulling back a bit. “Not when you're this come drunk.” Trent pouts, but doesn't protest further, just lets Brian put each of his rings back on. “I got lube on your shirt by the way. You can wear mine. I can go without.”

“Was that a promise?” Trent asks.

“What?” Brian asks.

“That you'd fuck my mouth.” Brian laughs once.

“Yeah, sure,” he says. “Promise.”


End file.
